My Life Aquatic #1

I've always envisioned myself as a marine biologist. Skills of observation and of an ability to sit patently for inordinate amounts of time. I can wait and observe for hours. Eerie perhaps. It is just something that I can do. It may not seem as if I am breathing. And once in awhile, I have fallen asleep doing this until the weight of my large cranium forces my head to land on the floor. It began during games of hide and seek when my friends, despite knowing the general area I was hiding could not specifically pinpoint which bush I was in (because I did not move), and frustrated, would quit.

Additionally fascinated with creatures of the sea- often it is the voice of Jacques Costeau speaking to me to buy more coffee (oddly, Italian Roast) or to restock the orange juice. It was his love of the oceans and all life within that enabled me to see through the media frenzy whenever there was a rare predation of a human in the sea. This, not a malicious crime of intent but unfortunate timing. The mysteries of the sea and its great creatures; the monstrous whales, tiny but dangerous jellyfish, the grace of the manta ray (shark), and mysteries still unanswered; the birth of a great white shark, why Orcas have never harmed a human in the open sea. The days these are answered, even discussed are days I am online reading every article that I can. And yet, one major obstacle kept me from pursuing my life long passion: I am afraid of water.

We all have our contradictions. I just view myself as Jane Goodall if she didn't particularly like camping or was allergic to African plants. Otherwise, in heart and soul, I am there. There, in the ocean searching, observing, waiting.

But why wait? Why not accept my limitations and search in our urban landscape for the wonders of the Aquatic? And I have my found place of study. Mission Creek, alongside a row of houseboats just a short distance from a ballpark and a library, breathes the life of a salt marsh; egrets, herons, fish, crabs, leopard sharks, and its most notable and visible residents, bat rays.
It was two years ago that my energetic family chose to go a hike in this area while I decided to nap in the car. Some time later, my oldest Team Explorer member wakes me in rambling, excited declarations: "Daddy, there's a giant ray in the water!". What madness does he speak of? This is the city and I was having a perfectly good rest. Would this turn out to be as the time I was walking and saw two people rocking on a seesaw on Howard Street when I realized they were not on a seesaw? Pray not. Slumbering but curious, I dragged myself off the lush vinyl bed to view what most certainly would end up being a big rock.

But it wasn't. It was who we would later know as, Omar, a bat ray comfortably resting (not unlike me, I should add). just feet from the shore. The water was clear and beneath a slight incline of dirt was the large creature five feet wide from wing to wing. I was stunned and invigorated! Discovery! The meaning of life! Ten or so subsequent visits resulted in various degrees of success; views that lasted only seconds or the reward of minutes of glides, with activity from three or more rays. We identified three; Omar, Pablo, the most active about 3 feet wide, and Barry, possibly a baby but definitely the smallest with an orange hue.

Not since the early spring have I been out to see what state the habitat was in, and if our friends still reside. Our goal would be to pick the time of day where the water was highest and calmest and visually, clearest. In the late afternoon, the water is too shallow and murky. Arriving at a mid- morning hour and alternating between two locations sitting and waiting. Watching for air bubbles or movement to come to one spot. If they showed, they came slowly into view. Gliding up into an area just beneath the surface of the water. No sound, call, or announcement. Just present. Perhaps in turning, a flicker of a wing would break the surface providing the smallest of splashes.

After our longest bike ride ever (not very long for most humans), Dext and I pulled into Mission Bay and laid our transport by the creek. The water was at a good height, visibility was also promising. In ten minutes Dexter spotted Pablo about fifteen feet from shore swimming up toward the surface. Pablo is larger now. He spun once, twice, then submerged. One more view and he was gone. But I was back to my life aquatic.